


Sidestep

by erintoknow



Series: Aria-Rough Drafts [4]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Fire, Found Family, Gen, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Reporter, Rescue, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Transitioning, passing anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-10 20:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20534378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erintoknow/pseuds/erintoknow
Summary: There’s a pained look in her eyes and you can’t face it, shift your gaze to your lap. “Look, you can’t seriously just, expect tosidestepyour way through every fight!”





	1. Look at you

**Author's Note:**

> This is the OG version of several chapters of [[Your Weak Young Heart]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21702838/)

Chelsea drops the first aid kit on the kitchen table, popping the lid open. “What were you thinking!?”

You flinch at the tone of her voice. “That his acid spitting ability had to have a refractory period so–”

“_Alex_.” Chelsea narrows her eyes at you before pulling out a roll of gauze bandage. “Hold out your hand,” You comply and she tuts at the reddened skin. “God, look at you…” Not for the first time, her distress at your injuries is baffling. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

You give a noncommittal shrug, look away to stare at the floor, still intensely aware of Chelsea’s gaze fixed on your face.

Without really thinking about it, Chelsea runs a finger along the scar on her cheek. You can pick up the ghost of a memory of some other fight, some other life of Chelsea’s. Part of you wants to push further, find where the memory hole leads, but… hasn’t Chelsea earned your trust by now, a least a little? It’s… nice that she cares? But _why_? You’re running out of explanations.

“Look, there’s no contesting at this point that you…” Chelsea winces as she starts wrapping a stretch of gauze over your hand and wrist, “you have a talent.”

The look Chelsea shoots you tempers the butterflies threatening to carry you off the seat. Not for the first time wonder if you should tell Chelsea about your telepathy, whether that would help or hurt. But…

When you don’t say anything, Chelsea continues; “Your lucky this is only a minor burn, and that miracle luck of yours isn’t going to hold out if you keep throwing yourself into fights sight unseen.”

This again. “You saw it too,” You whisper, “He was about to attack that man. I had to do something.”

Chelsea finishes wrapping your hand, gently holding your arm as she pins the end of the gauze to stay in place. “Alex, someone else could have stepped in.”

You shake your head, “No, they wouldn’t have.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I can!” Your heart jumps in your throat at you say it. You’re giving too much away, but– she needs to understand, she _has_ to understand. That the two of you keep having this argument, that she keeps trying to talk you out of this… it makes the sting in your hand feel like nothing in comparison.

“What are you–?” Chelsea pinches the bridge of her nose, and steps back away from the table to glare at the ceiling. She shakes her head. “Sooner or later you’re going to hit something more stubborn then you are, and I…” She cuts herself off, mouth pressed into a grim slash across her face.

“You just admitted I’m good at. He never even hit me really.” You wave your bandaged arm, “This was just from splash.”

There’s a pained look in her eyes and you can’t face it, shift your gaze to your lap. “Oh Lord, you can’t seriously just, expect to _sidestep_ your way through every fight!”

You bite your lip, trace a pattern on your leg. “I can. I can and I will.”


	2. I can't...

The heat presses in around you, and you’re not sure if the mask over your face is making it harder or easier to breath through the smoke. Something to add to your next costume revision maybe. This quite possibly the stupidest thing you’ve done yet, the skinsuit is supposed to be fire retardant, but a burning building is a bit more intense of a field test than you’d have liked.

The building predates the 1980 earthquake and it shows. The way the floor shifts under your feet as push through the blaze makes your stomach lurch. Abandoned office building, part of the city still in ruins… Firefighters will get here eventually, but in time? Will they be able tell like you can where people are trapped? Where they are in time? Will they even care?

Follow the thread – or, well, you don’t actually know the layout of the building and the fire closes some obvious paths while burning open new ones, so it’s less a path to your goal and a vague compass direction pulling your onwards. Upstairs there’s more smoke, same amount of fire casting everything into a sick yellow orange light. Kick out a door and, there!

“Are you alright?” You hold out a gloved hand to the woman curled up on the floor. She pokes her head up and looks at you like you’re crazy. Maybe you are. “Come on.”

She coughs, flashes of fear. “My stuff…”

“I’m sorry, we need to go _now_.” You reach out to give her mind a gentle mental push. There’s a moment where it seems like it might take something harder, and then she gets up, grabs a backpack in one hand and with the other takes your hand. Swallow the lump in your throat. This is no time to stress over contact, or is it your stress or hers? Both? You grip her hand tight and pull the woman along behind you.

Getting out is easier, just trace your steps backwards. Quick enough that the fire can’t change the path yet. Get to the stairwell, and the hand in yours pulls back.

“I can’t…” The woman glances backwards. Picking up feelings of something else, something left behind. She has her backpack, that’s her ‘stuff’ right? What more could there possibly be?

“We have to go.” You add another gentle telepathic push to your words. You’ve got three flights of stairs to speed down pronto. The building shifts under your feet with some thunderous groan as if to underline your point. That gets her moving again and the two of you are rushing down the stairs.

One flight, two, thr– the building groans around the two of you, something shifts and debris from the collapsing ceiling crashes down blocking the doorway as you swing open the doors. “Fuck.” You real back from the flames licking around wood boards. A support beam? No, not thick enough. Just part of the floor/ceiling.

You could jump over but can she? You don’t think you can carry her and jump… fuck, fuck fuck. The woman glances at you. “I’m thinking!” You hiss. Hold out your hands, stare down the debris, as if you could will it to clear itself. But you’re telepathic, not telekinetic. Can you… kick a path without disturbing more debris to fall down? No. No, don’t be ridiculous.

Wait. Of course. Idiot, why didn’t you think of it earlier? You grab the woman’s hand without ceremony and drag her back up to the second flight. “Change of plans.” There, where the stairs switch back, the window. “We’ll jump out here.”

“_Jump?_” The woman takes a step back, “Are you crazy?”

“I–it’s not even a full story up. We’ll be fine.” Is there a way to open the window? No. Fine. You’ll have have to break out. Plant your feet, grit teeth, rear back– paint shoots up your arm and there’s cracks in the window. Great. Try again, another flash of pain but… “Watch out,” is the only warning you offer before a shower of thick shards of glass rains down. You shake out your hand, making note of the little cuts into the glove before sweeping the glass out of the frame.

She looks between the window and you. Have to will yourself not to flinch away.

“It’ll be fine,” You lie. Or, well, you hope you’re not lying. “See, we’re not that high.” Nothing for it but to jump.


	3. Thanks, new guy!

You wince as you hit the ground, turn around, coax the woman after you. It takes some mental encouragement but she finally tosses first her backpack down and then lowers herself out the window.

You did it. Everyone out. Every safe. You could just collapse in pile on the ground. The outside feels freezing in comparison to the heat behind you, and there’s a pained feeling in your lungs as you cough.

An opponent you couldn’t punch not only is everything _fine_, you were still able to punch something anyway. See Chelsea? You can handle this. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. Well, the building burning down isn’t fine, but everything else will be. Eventually your hand will stop hurting.

It looks like the firefighters finally arrived while you were inside. Men in bright orange and yellow vests running to hook up the hoses. Whatever happens now is out of your hands.

A small crowd has gathered outside. To the side, someone’s laid down a blanket and two people you’ve already lead through the blaze are sitting there, huddled together. “Are you okay?” You glance back at the woman. In the daylight she looks about Chelsea’s age? Older maybe.

“Thanks.” It’s a mumbled whisper as she lets go of your hand, bringing her backpack up to her chest to cling to as she sits down.

You catch a burst of attention directed your way and freeze up. Time to go, before anyone asks questions you can’t answer. But _damn,_ your lungs hurt and every muscle in your legs are sore and really, why do you need to keep running? Isn’t this what the suit is for, really? There’s nothing anyone can see. No way anyone can know.

“Hey! Hey, hero of the hour!” The voice is light, almost falsetto. It’s owner’s attention boring a hole in your back as you stand rooted to the grass. “You got a minute?”

Maybe… maybe this won’t go terribly? After what you did want to talk is… natural, right? That’s a thing that normal people do, right? You force yourself to turn, “Can I help you…?”

The woman standing before you is in the unmistakable bright blue of a Ranger’s uniform, save for the hands and feet which been left exposed. A flash of freckles under eyes crinkled by a huge smile. “You really showed us up today huh?” She thrusts an open hand towards you.

You stare. “…I’m sorry?”

“I’m told a guy in a black and teal get-up got everyone out safe.” The woman leans in with a critical eye. She’s a little shorter than you, but not by much. “That’s you, isn’t? Skinsuit, black and teal hood and jacket?”

You can feel your heart in your chest. God, you’re too tired for this. “Yes…?” You concede.

“Are you new at this? I don’t think I’ve seen anyone in that outfit running around before.”

“Uh–”

“Well, thanks for helping out new guy!” She moves to clap a hand on your shoulder.

It’s a split-second decision stretched out over what feels way too long as her hand closes in.

You flinch, step to the side, slap her arm away.

There’s a moment of silence between the two of you. You stare at her, wide-eyed under your mask. You _hit_ her. Why did you do that? What’s wrong with you? Why?

The woman raises her eyebrows and gives a nervous smile, laughing. “Ooookay, sorry there.”

“I– uh– S-s-sorry!!” Oh god. Oh fuck.

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have assumed.” She offers another, smaller, smile.

You grab at your arms, try to hold yourself together, pressing your fingers into your skin. “I’m so sorry, I just– I…”

“It’s… fine? You’re fine.” The woman holds out her hands as if she might need to catch you. The observation makes you tense up all over again. You should get out of here, get going, move–

“Are you harassing the vigilante, Anathema?” You brush against the mind responsible and recoil like from it like a lit stovetop. Sharp, clear-without-being-clear, disciplined. The Directive is here? You’re screwed. They’ve come after you finally. It was only a matter of time. Is it even worth it to try to run?

“Just checking on the hero here, Steel.” The woman turns and you, heart pounding in your chest, follow her gaze to the man in power armor marching towards you.

Power armor? Different make then the standard build. Not the Directive then. A Ranger. A Ranger with military training? Military training and power armor and he’s looking down at you and god you want to run but you can’t. Stand your ground. The moment you run you won’t belong. These people aren’t a danger to you. Not yet anyway. Not as long as you don’t treat them like a danger. That’s the trick.

“So,” the man says, “I understand you got everyone out.”

You make yourself nod. With out really thinking about it, you rub your hand. Feel the little sparks of pain from where your knuckles took the force of the hit.

“You did good work. Every second counts in a situation like this.”

You’re lucky your mask covers your face. _Praise_ is definitely not an outcome you had prepared for.

“Next time however, leave it to the professionals.” Oh. There we go. Normality restored. “You’re lucky everything went smoothly. You could have just as easily made things worse by rushing in.”

The woman raps a hand against his arm. “_Steel!_” Eyebrows furrowed.

The man frowns. “Still,” he appends, “good job.”

You glance back and forth between the two, a twinge of irritation poking out as the fear slowly evaporates.

“Oh!” Anathema gestures herself and the man in power armor. “I’m Anathema by the way, if you didn’t already know. And grumps here is Sargent Steel.”

“Ah.” You say.

The silence between the three of you stretches out and you feel increasingly awkward. What are they expecting from you?

“Excuse me! Excuse me, do you have a moment?”

You turn towards the source of the noise. Behind you, the man in power armor snorts. “Here we go again.”

A short man in a tall hat holding a tape recording pushes past two women milling about on the sidewalk as he makes his way to the three of you. “José Diasz, Burbank Times reporter, can we talk for a minute?”

You stare at the man. This is new. Glance at the two Rangers. “Um?”

The woman steps forward, between you and the reporter. You allow yourself to relax a little. Let the bubbly woman with the too big smile handle this. The actual emergency is done. You just need to bide your time until you can make an exit. “Hi, Anathema of the Los Diablos Rangers, what can I do for you?”

“Actually,” The reporter peers around her, and you tense up again. “I was hoping to speak to the man in the black and teal costume?”

“Oh?” The woman, what was her name? Anathema? Anathema steps back and glances at you. “You want to take this?”

You freeze. Definitely can’t run now. Take a breath, focus, act like you belong here. “Um. Hi? Also,” you take a breath, “I– I’m not a man.”

The reporter takes it in stride, “Oh, of course, my apologies miss.”

Wow. That was… incredibly easy. Terrifying but easy. It must be the suit. Everything’s already hidden anyway. Yet another point in its favor. Maybe… you allow yourself a grin. Maybe this won’t be so bad?

“Now, is it true you single-handedly carried five people to safety?” The way the man wields the tape recorder in his hand makes you nervous.

“Uh, well…” You avoid the reporter’s face. “I didn’t _carry_ anyone. They all walked. Or… jumped at the end there I guess. I just… helped?”

“Still, you’ve been making something of a name for yourself lately, haven’t you? The neighborhood has definitely felt the lost of Overnight in the past year. Are you intending to pick up where he left off?”

You blink, bewildered. Overnight? Oh yeah, the guy who got hurt and retired. “Uh, I’m just– well, someone had to do something. I couldn’t– I couldn’t stand by and well… look how long it took the firefighters to get out here…” As you say that, you wince and glance at Anathema and the man in power armor. “No offense?”

Anathema shrugs. The man in power armor doesn’t look amused, but you’re getting the sense that may be just what his face looks like all the time.

“Well! I’m glad someone like you is willing to take up the slack!”

Is this conversation really happening? You can’t pick up any duplicity or sarcasm from the reporter. “Uh… thank you?”

“Any chance I can get your name? It’ll make all our jobs easier if we don’t have to keep coming up with synonyms for ‘handsome stranger.’”

“Uuuh–” You blow the air out of your lungs, take another deep breath. Swallow the lump in your throat. Pick one face, one mind and focus on that one. Focus on the reporter–

“I’d be interested in knowing that too, actually.” Anathema cuts in.

“The Rangers would.” The man in power armor adds, correcting her.

You bite your lip. It’s one thing to want to get the Ranger’s attention in theory, some hypothetical future. It’s another to actually have their attention in the here and now. Don’t– don’t stress about it. Focus on the reporter’s question. You’d been thinking about this one for awhile, and there’s a certain rush to finally saying it out loud. _Two_ firsts for today, come to think of it. “It’s uh… Sidestep?”

Can’t sidestep your way through every fight, huh Chelsea. Well, we’ll see about _that_.


End file.
